


Purity and Sin

by demonkatgurl17



Category: NOS4A2 (TV 2019)
Genre: Age Difference, Bad BDSM Etiquette, Bad Touch, Body Horror, Cuckolding, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Drugged Sex, F/M, Forced Orgasm, Hostage/Kidnapped, I don't make them for my health, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Impregnation, Older Man/Younger Woman, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rough Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Sex Toys, Unsafe Sex, read the tags
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-15
Updated: 2020-07-15
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:33:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25276972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/demonkatgurl17/pseuds/demonkatgurl17
Summary: Charlie Manx comes back from Parnassus to find Vic McQueen still at Bing's house days after he kidnaps her. Unhappily disillusioned about her nature, Charlie's plans for young Vic McQueen change.
Relationships: Bing Partridge/Vic McQueen, Charlie Manx/Vic McQueen, Vic McQueen/Craig Harrison (implied)
Comments: 13
Kudos: 42





	1. Pain Management

**Author's Note:**

> So instead of working on cobbling bits of an HP WIP chapter that I've been working on for a while now, I wrote this instead. Fml... So anyway, here's this fandom trash bc I binged NOS4A2 and found nothing for the pairings I was looking for, even though watching it gave me bad touch vibes that totally needed fic'd out...and it looks like I'm the first to do it. 
> 
> Here's my contribution. You're welcome. No flaming, I own a fire extinguisher.

Charlie Manx’s soul-searching trip to Parnassus had been…illuminating. Talking to his fellow Strong Creatives always was. He had returned motivated, convinced that he had finally found a mother figure for his dear children in the young Vic McQueen.

Decades of searching, of bitter disappointment were finally at an end.

He felt giddy as a schoolboy— or at least younger than he’d felt in quite some time. He looked it too, his body renewed with the rescued soul of the little girl in Haverhill, the sweet child who had led him to Vic McQueen. High on success and anticipation, Charlie couldn’t believe Bing’s accusations of her impurity. There was something _special_ about Vic, he knew it in his _bones_. She _couldn’t_ be what Bing claimed.

Sullied by drugs and alcohol.

And a slut to boot.

Not _his_ Vic, not the young woman who radiated power and potential. Not the future mother of _Charlie’s_ children.

Proof.

That was what Charlie wanted, proof that Bing Partridge wasn’t merely lying to save his own skin, desperate to gain back favor for his simpleminded mistakes, proof that Charlie —so _close_ to having _everything_ he wanted — was _wrong_.

And so Charlie found himself descending the steps of Bing’s basement — Bing had eventually admitted he’d been holding Vic hostage in his home for a couple days following the fight between mother and daughter, a fight that had been engineered by Bing after his supposed discovery of Vic’s immoral paraphernalia.

_We’ll see_ , Charlie thought to himself. _We’ll find the truth out, won’t we?_

It had been a long time since he’d been so wrong, felt this _blind_ - _sighted_.

Charlie looked down at young Vic McQueen, who was strapped to an old arm chair with her legs spread apart, ankles bound to the legs, arms behind her back, presumably bound as well. She was completely nude, her pale, creamy skin on display marked up in several places with bruises and bite marks, the telling signs of manhandling and assault. All this and the whitish stains on the seat cushion where Vic sat told him that Bing had been a _very_ attentive host.

Her eyelids were open in slits just wide enough for Charlie to know that her eyes were rolling back in her head, her mouth slack, drooling running down her neck to pool on her chest. It was very likely that she was in a drugged stupor, though Charlie was fairly certain that the dildo protruding from her cunt (a large purple monstrosity that vibrated with an intensity that made even _him_ wince to hear) was partly to blame for Vic’s heavily dazed appearance.

Fury and disappointment raged within him.

To find his chosen mother-figure like this, despoiled and abused, was nearly enough to make Charlie send his precious Knife on a mission to run down Bing Partridge, ridding the world of the man’s stupidity.

The audacity…sullying what was _his_ and then _lying_ about it.

A shudder ran through Vic’s body. She gave a garbled cry, legs thrashing feebly as her body twitched.

It was a moment before Charlie realized that Vic had just orgasmed, brought off by the toy buzzing away inside her. He stared down at the dildo (still vibrating away) with mixed emotions. On the one hand, he despised whores.

But...

He couldn't deny that, seeing Vic's cunt clench on the toy, her hips rolling weakly in an attempt to chase her own pleasure was... _fascinating_.

Charlie felt himself stiffen as he hadn't in decades.

Then propriety reared its head.

This whole scene was base, vulgar. An unmarried young woman should not be seen like this.

Charlie glowered at the toy, loath to touch it, but he had no choice. Pinching the protruding end, he gently pulled the offensive thing from her body, a shiver running down his spine as he felt her body grasping at it even as it slid from her wet cunt with an obscene sound that made him snarl at her under his breath. Slick fluid dribbled down the end of the toy onto Vic's skin. She whined, her hips thrusting up uselessly, still wanting to be filled.

Whore indeed.

Carefully, he removed all the duct tape binding Vic and lifted her, dragging her limp body to a nearby couch where he laid her down, mostly to get away from the small puddle of disgusting fluids on that chair cushion.

Perhaps it was simply how her legs fell when Charlie placed her on the couch or maybe young Vic McQueen was accustomed to the action now, but regardless, once splayed on her back, Vic spread her legs.

The toy fell from his hand, forgotten, rolling across the dirty floor unnoticed.

Charlie stared down at her most secret of places, looked more than his fill at her body, seemingly displayed just for him, helpless to do anything but look at how _open_ she was, how _wet_. The slick that coated the toy had slid down from her cunt into the crevice of her shapely derriere, coating the little pucker of her anus. He reached out without thought and stroked a long nailed finger against that hole, sneering at the needy sound the teen made. He eased the tip in, carefully angling his fingernail to not damage her. Vic rolled her hips down, drawing more of Charlie in, the furl of her asshole tight and promising.

Wanton slut.

He watched her pant and twitch, barely conscious and utterly shameless.

A familiar fury lit within him.

The base needs of the weaker sex. So _helpless_ they were to control themselves…so _lost_ to their body’s wants, uncaring who fulfilled them…

He wanted to _punish_ her, this, this _harlot—_

Charlie withdrew his finger, wiping it off on a garish throw pillow. He knelt on the couch between Vic's spread legs, working his trousers open to free his length, now hard and unrelenting in its own righteousness, its _own_ need.

Charlie slapped lightly at Vic's cheek, rousing her a little. "Vi-ic..."Charlie whispered softly, crooning. “Has dear Bing had you, Vic?”

She didn't respond.

Charlie leaned over her to whisper viciously in her ear. "Has he _fucked_ you, Vic McQueen? Has he thrust himself into your sweet body, used it to bring himself to completion?"

She nodded clumsily after a moment.

"How many times?"

"Mmm...dun-know...” Little by little, she came to, turning her head this way and that, blinking blearily up at him. Seeing Charlie leaning over her seemed to help her regain some of her faculties. “…does it a lot though... likes to be inside me..."

"I'll bet he does..."Charlie laughed to himself, eying her tight little body, the pink buds of her breasts, her wet cunt." How long had he held you here?"

That got him an artless shrug instead of an answer.

"Well, no matter... We shall see how broken you are." And Charlie pressed forward, the tip of his cock sinking into her wet snatch with ease, diving in in in until his hips pressed to hers, rolling them to get as deep as possible. She groaned beneath him, eyes fluttering just as they had when that awful toy was sunk inside her. Her hips pressed back, meeting his.

She was using _him_ now for her pleasure.

Charlie reared back and drove back in, his cock merciless. He fucked her at a hard pace. He wrapped his clawed fingers around her narrow hips (she was unsuitable even in _body_ for motherhood) and dragged her bodily onto his length, sneering down at her. “Filthy harlot, spreading your legs for _anyone_. To _think_ , I believed you worthy of coming to Christmasland…” He shook his head, teeth bared, angry at her for disappointing him and angry at himself for enjoying her depravity.

The wanton jezebel writhed under him feebly, half-drugged and lost to carnality.

Such a waste.

"Does this please you, Vic? Being such a _whore?_ Nothing but a hole for men to bury themselves in?"

Oddly, Vic grinned up at him, laughter bubbling up from her chest, the sound awkwardly punched out of her as Charlie maintained his rough pace.

"What does it say...about you then?" she giggled breathlessly. She deliberately clenched around him, laughing harder when Charlie groaned, his eyes twisting closed for a moment at the pleasure she wrought from him. "Y—you seem…to like it too..."

"I'm trying to _punish_ you, Vic McQueen!" Charlie growled, fucking her harder, as though he could force the sin out of her body by will alone.

"Then punish me, Charlie Manx. Punish me...." Vic groaned, rolling her hips.

No, this wasn't–  
  


This wasn't supposed to happen! _He_ was supposed to have the power here!

"You're _sick_ ," he seethed down at her, furious at her for twisting his intentions, for sparking a need for her deep in his veins. He bent over her body, propped up on a forearm so that his youthful face was hovering a scant few inches from hers, their breath mingling between them.

Briefly, it occurred to him that he should stop, rip himself from her licentious flesh and have Bing deal with her, use her like the toy she was before disposing of her, yet another piece of trash forgotten by the wayside.

Only…

Only he _couldn’t_. All of his self-control had been ripped away, leaving his own base needs exposed, his very _soul_ contaminated by the pleasure surging within him from where she was wrapped around his cock.

"You're one to talk..." Vic's eyes were open, she stared up at him, half-lidded, her pupils blown so wide that her eyes were nearly as dark as his own. A wiggle and she managed to hook a leg up over one of Charlie's hips. They both groaned when Charlie sank even _deeper_ , gripped _impossible_ tighter in that beautiful heat — and it _was_ beautiful, beautiful and welcoming and mind numbingly _good_ , good in a way he hadn’t felt in decades, not since his wife.

The only thing that came close to this was the feeling he got when he returned to Christmasland.

But that was different. His feelings for his inscape were pure, unsullied by base desires. They weren’t like _this,_ this boiling, insufferable _need_ that robbed him of his senses and turned him into a rutting, animal _thing_.

"Why...do you feel...so _good?_ " Charlie whispered between his labored breathing. He hung his head lower, _all_ of him seemingly drawn to Vic McQueen, this vibrant, impossible woman who threatened him as no one ever had. He rolled his hips slower, drawing out his mad thrusts into a more languid pace, reveling in the rush of blood and endorphins, feeling more alive now than in a hundred years. "What are you doing to me?"

"I'm not—"

“Do not _lie_ to me!" he growled.

"I don't want to like it either!" Vic cried out. She tossed back her head of dark wavy hair. "I don't _know_ why it feels good. I don't _want_ it to! I don't want—" she rolled her hips, groaning as his cock twisted inside her, "—to want this! I _hate_ you! You're twisted—"

Charlie gave a brutal thrust—

"—ugly—"

He bent his head to her neck, nipping at it—

"—despicable—"

He laved his tongue over the sweat on her skin, tasting her—

"— _evil_ thing!" Her hands ran up his arms and into his hair, gripping it, holding him there against her neck as he marked up her pale flesh, biting harder, fucked her into the couch in rough thrusts that drew needy whines from that vulnerable throat beneath his lips.

He was aflame in need, her condemning words a match to his own opinions of her. It was as though their mutual hate and confusing fascinating with each other had clashed, mutated, sought release in a different, unholy way that seemed both ironic and fitting.

He thought her a dirty thing, a slut, a tarnished piece of trash. Yet he was losing himself to the pleasures her body wrought from him, reveling in his own base desires that he would condemn _her_ for.

And she, for all that she claimed that Charlie was repulsive, couldn't seem to get enough of his cock, her body twining around his like an impassioned lover.

Trapped in their mutual hate and need, they rocked together on Bing Partridge's disgusting couch, slacking their lusts on each other. Their bodies were pressed together, her nude body against his clothed one, their sweat and passion ruining the crisp lines of his pants, soaking his white shirt. Her pink buds were chafed from his shirt, but she arched her torso anyway, his clothes dragging against them even more.

Charlie shifted his grip on Vic's hip, sliding his clawed hand around and behind her, cupping a taut ass cheek in his hand and using the leverage it gave him to force her body into his thrusts, to _make_ her take him.

She cried out as her body arched into him, clutching at him, clawing, a mad thing in her pleasure as her cunt spasmed around Charlie's cock, her orgasm beautifully painful. Feeling her lose all control under him, Charlie snarled, triumphant, caught up in his righteous vindication that he had made her come on his cock, that _he_ had brought her so low! It didn't matter to him that, moments later, his hips stuttered in their aggressive thrusting as he spilled into her, filling her unworthy womb with his seed. Blinded by his own pleasure, Charlie was unaware that, as he came, his lips brushed Vic's. His body acted without thought, his lips pressed harder, their mouths c crashing together in a sloppy passionate kiss that neither controlled but neither could stop.

Their need for air was what broke the kiss, though their lips remained close enough to brush.

Charlie found himself draped over Vic. He eyed the flushed skin of her face, the dark purpling bites on her neck with satisfaction, a smile pulling at his lips. Her arms were still around his shoulders, hands absently playing with his hair. She had her own eyes closed and her face was mostly blank. He couldn't tell what emotions she was hiding. Probably ones Charlie was dealing with— bone deep satisfaction mixed with a healthy dose of self-recrimination, disbelief that they had achieved such passion with each other.

"That was beautiful."

Vic and Charlie both turned their heads to look at Bing, who had crept down the stairs sometime during their…tryst… without their notice. The hulking man stared at them, wide-eyed, a hand over his crotch, rubbing at the engorged cock tenting his pants. His eyes flashed all over Vic, drinking in what he could see of her, focusing mostly on her modest bosom and the curve of her hips where Charlie and Vic were pressed together so intimately. 

Charlie felt Vic squirm beneath him, trying to put Charlie’s body between Bing and her bared flesh.

Perhaps orgasm made him feel more charitable towards her. Charlie found himself shifting so that his body and jacket covered most of Vic, preserving the shredded remains of her modesty and virtue.

He was a gentleman, after all.

Vic grimaced up at him, but didn't thank him for his kindness.

_Rude._

Charlie frowned at her. It was then that he realized he was still buried inside her, her cunt grasping at him in spontaneous contractions.

She was a selfish whore even now, finding pleasure with Bing’s eyes on her bruised, sweaty body, Charlie’s cock still lodged with her.

He leaned down, pressing his body fully to hers. "Should I leave you two alone to catch up?" he whispered in her ear, enjoying the shiver that ran through the length of her.

Vic shook her head.

"No?"

"...please don't leave me with him...." Vic whimpered, all but clinging to him, tugging lightly at his mussed up hair.

"Hmmm...." Charlie nuzzled at her dark locks as he considered his new dilemma.

What to do with Vic McQueen?

As his gears turned, looking at his plans in a new light, he lazily thrust inside her, if only to hear the shuddery gasps she made as his softening length moved inside her. Even now, with his lust banked, he could feel a pull towards her. She was a mystery for him, an impossibility he couldn't wrap his mind around.

Vic McQueen. A strong woman, tainted, sinful…and yet so enticing in her power and self that Charlie found himself at a loss for what to do with her.

"Please... Mr.—“He rolled his hips just to hear her stutter on his name. “M-Manx...”

Sinful and lovely...

She was unfit to be a mother to his children, couldn’t love them unselfishly when she was trapped in her own desires.

But he did know one thing.

He couldn't let her go.

"You're mine, you know?" He looked into her eyes, her left one markedly bloodshot. "Can you feel it? The draw?"

Her gaze darted away and her fingers tensed in his hair.

It was answer enough.

Charlie leaned down to give her a soft kiss, its chasteness sullied by their joined sex and the cum cooling between them. Purity and sin. He had a feeling that this duality would always be present with her, but couldn't find it in him to be enraged by it. She seemed to have enthralled him, if such a thing were possible.

He pulled away, smiling. "My little match... What _fun_ we're going to have together!"


	2. Shattered Faith/Hope Renewed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Despite Vic's impurity, Charlie tries to make her worthy of Christmasland in a more...creative way.

Skin against skin…

Heavy panting and sharp cries…

The squeaking of bedsprings on a cheap motel bed…

Sweat and musk, heavy and cloying filled the air…

All this Charlie Manx took in as he watched from an armchair in a corner of the room as Bing Partridge moved his heavy bulk over Vic McQueen, his thick cock pounding into her tight cunt in sordid wet slaps that made Charlie’s own cock twitch in his hand, pulsing and leaking as the big man rutted her.

Vic was tied to the bed, limbs spread to each corner, her feet up by the headboard so that her head could dangle off the end. The ties were fairly unnecessary. Trapped beneath Bing, there was nowhere she could go.

“Her mouth…” Charlie wheezed, his wizened hand squeezing his cock to stave off an early orgasm. It would be over too soon if he allowed himself to shoot now. He fully intended to watch her come on Bing’s cock again before he allowed that.

Bing groaned and stilled, body heaving.

For a moment, Charlie feared the man had come, but then the man was pulling out of Vic with a wet squelch, semen from his first load seeping out into the cheap motel sheets as he rolled off the bed. He waddled around it to take position at the end by Vic’s dangling head, forcing his cock into her open mouth as he was told.

Vic, dutiful slut that she was, suckled at Bing’s cock like a hungry babe, intent on taking all Bing had to give if only Bing would give it. Cradling her head in his hands, Bing groaned, rocking a little back and forth, dipping his cock into her throat more and more every time.

“ _Fuck_ …her…” Charlie barked, his sharp teeth gnashing impatiently, scowling at the pair. He wanted to see her defiled, used. A perfect cockslut. He would do it himself, but his current aged state left much to be desired in terms of sex drive and mobility. He needed to bring children to Christmasland on a fairly regular basis, but it was difficult to find and extract neglected children when he had a willful young woman to attend to. Vic could be very…demanding…of Charlie’s time and energy, seemingly intent on keep Charlie from filling Christmasland by having him fill her instead.

Charlie couldn’t make up his mind whether or not he minded.

At least he had Bing around to help pick of the slack of wearing Vic out when Charlie’s body was too sapped to do so. Bing didn’t consider it a burden having to fuck Vic McQueen out of her mind and it certainly wasn’t a chore for Charlie to watch it being done. There had even been one memorable time, when _both_ men had been needed to wear her down, but thankfully those times were few and far between, as neither truly enjoyed sharing Vic with another man.

Too many cooks in the kitchen, and all…

But right now, Charlie was too weak in body to attend Vic personally, as he usually would do, his spine bowed over with the weight of his years, his skin paper thin and sagging. It was a miracle he was erect at all, and his long talons certainly made the act of pleasuring himself dangerous. His grip was slick in part to the blood smeared across his length from the little cuts his nails had scored along it.

The pain only made Charlie harder.

Sloppy wet sounds accompanied Bing’s livened thrusting, burying his cock to the hilt in Vic’s throat.

 _Such a chore it must be_ , Charlie thought, _to work for me, to follow my every command_.

Vic McQueen was a lithe slip of a woman, with breasts to match. Her small bosom quaked with every thrust, her body and the bed jarred with the movements Bing made. It was a lovely sight, though part of Charlie lamented, remembering the full swell of his wife’s breasts, growing heavier still once she was with child.

“Bing!”

“Y–yes sir?” Bing stuttered around a deep groan.

“Take her cunt again! Breed her properly this time!”

“Yes sir! Yes sir—“ Bing slipped free of Vic’s mouth to climb back onto the bed.

“Untie her legs, Bing, and bend them up to her chest. She cannot conceive if the seed doesn’t reach the womb!”

Bing untied the cords holding Vic’s legs stretched out then bent them, urging them up to her chest, her body folded in half so that her hips tilted— and her womb with it. Thankfully, Bing didn’t need any further encouragement to slide back into Vic’s wet cunt, his thick length filling her in ways that usually left the young woman quite sore, which she wasn’t shy to complain about to Charlie; it was partly why Vic preferred _his_ attentions over Bing’s.

That and, when he wasn’t so weak and drained, Charlie was quite something to look at.

As Bing rutted into Vic’s body, the great paunch of his belly obscured all sight of his cock moving with her. The pale flesh shuddering with every smack it made against Vic was vaguely nauseating for Charlie (and likely so for her), so he took solace in watching Vic’s face, drinking in every expression as Bing worked to breed her.

It had been nearly a year since the three had left Haverhill and Charlie had made no headway in putting baby in his little whore’s womb. Perhaps it was due to his gifts, the manner in which his life was extended and renewed with the souls of others that made it impossible for Charlie to impregnate her.

It certainly hadn’t been for lack of trying.

Tonight was the first night that Bing had been allowed to use her without an accompanying prophylactic. Charlie had tried and tried and tried, using all manner of tricks and positions he’d heard of to create life with Vic McQueen…with no success.

It wasn’t that he was tired of trying. It was that he was tired of failing. Perhaps with Bing’s seed, unremarkable and unchanged by the supernatural, everything that Charlie’s seed wasn’t, Vic McQueen would finally know motherhood.

And maybe then, she would be worthy of a place in Christmasland.

The bed shook violently as Bing surged against Vic’s body, the man panting and groaning loud enough to make the man in the next room over pound on the wall, telling Bing _“—yeah, fuck that whore!” —_ which Bing took as encouragement. He spread her legs wider, dragged her back onto his cock with more violence. “Take my cock, Vic. Take it….such a good slut… I’m gonna come in you so hard, breed you up…

 _“Yeah, give it to her! Knock that slut up!”_ came helpfully from the next room.

Through all of this, Vic stared at Charlie. Her head wobbled about where it was still tilted off the bed, but she managed to hold his gaze, whimpering as Bing fucked her hard, raping her. “Ch—Charlie…” she cried out, tears running down her face. “Please!”

“We’ve tried…” Charlie wheezed knowing where her thoughts were.

Normally, she didn’t need to be tied down, even when it was Bing between her legs. Or even with Charlie after he had informed Vic of his decision to breed her months ago and Charlie had coupled with her night after night after night trying to do so. Nothing had worked. But Vic hadn’t been _fond_ of the idea of Bing impregnating her. Not at all. Bing had been forced to knock her out with gas before tying her to the bed for this breeding session, fucking her cunt nearly raw before Vic could regain consciousness.

Contrariwise, her resistance to Charlie’s many attempts had been token at best. He supposed he should be flattered that Vic preferred to carry _his_ child over Bing’s. “I’m sorry my dear, but without medical intervention, this is the best I can do.”

“Please! L—lemme— try— a- _gain!_ — “

“We’ve tried _everything_.”

And they had, even when Charlie was reduced to this form, old and shriveled, frail and dangerously weak. He had let her suckle his wrinkled cock to fullness, watched her climb into his lap and bounce on him, her young, beautiful body astride his ancient one, her cunt milking him of his seed as he lay prone in bed or sitting upright, his claw-like hands clutching at her hips for dear life as he would wheeze and hack. They closest he felt they had come was when he fucked her in the Wraith, joined together in the driver’s seat of his Knife, the steering wheel digging into her back as she sat in his lap, fucking him in vigorous bounces that had made his teeth ache, the strange magic of the car swirling around them, through them, then fizzling at the point of Charlie’ climax.

It just wasn’t to be.

Charlie Manx had put too much of himself into Christmasland. There simply wasn’t enough left in him to create anything else.

He stroked his cock faster, swallowing the bitter disappointment as Bing let out a broken groan and stilled, pumping his seed into Vic’s cunt.

“Hold her there, Bing. Give it time.”

Vic had closed her eyes and turned her head away from Charlie when Bing came. She was crying in earnest now, though doing her best to keep quiet, to restrain herself. It hurt Charlie to watch. But he watched it all the same. It was his fault she was in pain, both physically from Bing’s large cock pounding her so vigorously, and emotionally from the mixed shame of being unable to bear Charlie a child and from being forced to bear Bing’s instead.

“That’s enough,” Charlie said softly after several minutes had passed. There was only so much he could make her take. “Untie her.”

Bing did as he was told, cooing to Vic under his breath all the while, calling her a good girl, telling her he was sorry, that it would be okay. Useless platitudes and outright lies. Charlie was willing to overlook it in the face of Vic’s distress. She was still crying softly to herself, curling up in a ball on the bed once Bing had released her.

Charlie released his hard cock, levering himself out of his chair to stagger to the bed, sitting on the edge beside Vic. He stroked her back gently, his soul bearing some of the weight of her pain. “I’m sorry, my dear.”

She uncurled enough to crawl over to him. Her eyes were red and puffy, her nose drippling a little, her breathing coming raggedly. Charlie thought she looked beautiful, even in misery. “It should have been _you_ ,” Vic whispered savagely, pushing at his chest with growing anger. “It should have been _you!”_ she cried brokenly, her head falling to rest on his shoulder as her own shook, sobbing.

Bing cringed, retreating to stand with his back to the wall, muttering to himself, ignored by Vic and Charlie. He didn’t matter to them anyway.

Charlie held Vic against his skeletal chest, feeling every wracking sob she made. If he could do it anymore, he’d have cried too. “In another life,” Charlie wheezed, feeling his years, “it _would_ have been you.”

He held her long after she had cried herself to sleep.

\----Ending One----

Alternate Ending:

Charlie released his hard cock, levering himself out of his chair to stagger to the bed, sitting on the edge beside Vic. He stroked her back gently, his soul baring some of the weight of her pain. “I’m sorry, my dear.”

She uncurled enough to crawl over to him. Her eyes were red and puffy, her nose drippling a little, her breathing coming raggedly. Charlie thought she looked beautiful, even in misery. “It should have been _you_ ,” Vic whispered savagely, pushing at his chest with growing anger. “It should have been _you!”_ she cried brokenly, her head falling to rest on his shoulder as her own shook, sobbing.

Charlie clumsily petted her for a moment before Vic pulled away suddenly, a manic glint in her eyes. “It _will_ be you!” she growled, she bared her teeth menacingly at him as she yanked him over to lie across the bed, forcing him onto his back. He hadn’t a chance to do more than flail awkwardly, trying to catch his bearings when she engulfed his flagging erection in her mouth, sucking with all the desperation of a whore living on her last two cents. His head swam, lightheaded from the sudden rush of blood to his cock.

Oh to be in that lovely mouth—

Without warning, Vic pulled off his cock with a lurid _pop_ , lapping the underside from base to tip in one aggressively fast swipe of her tongue that Charlie’s hips bucked feebly to follow.

She still had that determined look on her face as she swung a leg over him, straddling him, then Charlie was clutching at her thighs, wheezing desperately as his cock was sheathed in wet, tight velvet, warm as a summer’s day and just as addictive. There was no bouncing this time, no vigorous moves, that hurt about as much as they titillated.

No, this time, Vic rested her hands on his stomach and just rocked her hips, slow and steady, keeping Charlie nearly completely sheathed as she took him on the gentlest ride he’d ever experienced. Somehow, against all odds, it was a thousand times more erotic like this.

She was breathtaking.

Her eyes had drifted shut, her head tilting back, her mouth slack. She was taking her pleasure and doing it so gently, so hypnotically, that Charlie felt spellbound, existing both within his own pleasure and for hers, willing his cock to stay hard and full if only so he could watch her like this, losing herself in the subtly rhythm of her hips and how they teased over his cock.

Shriveled and weak though he was, Charlie had no desire to simply lie there like a worthless lump. He caressed the smooth skin of her thighs, feeling the muscles of Vic’s coltish legs work to steady herself. His talons traced across her hips, her belly, his hands cupped her breasts. She held her hands over his, kneading them, coaxing them to pinch and tease. He cursed the weakness of his body for being unable to lean up and take those delicate buds into his mouth, unable to nip at them with his sharp jagged teeth. He pinched harder, compensating, soothing the sting with back and forth swipes of his thumbs.

She clenched around him.

Charlie wheezed, sparks lighting under his skin and in his vision.

“It _will_ be you…” Vic whispered. She rolled her hips with exaggerated slowness, making them both groan. “It _will_ be you… it _will_ be you…” Vic whispered again and again and again, groaning out her mantra as she made love to Charlie Manx’s aged form, inching him closer and closer, until finally he was spilling his seed within her, clutching at her hips so hard that his nails broke skin and her blood ran. She was still whispering “it _will_ be you” when she came, her back arching as she clenched around his softening cock.

An unearthly sensation rose within them, moved around them, _through_ them. Behind both of their closed eyes, identical dream images formed, running one into another—

Charlie pressing a kiss to a the full curve of a woman’s belly, heavy with child—

Vic, eyes wild and flashing, sweat running down her face as she lay on her back in a hospital bed, a doctor telling her to push, Vic _screaming_ —

Charlie holding an infant, wonder in his eyes, a _boy_ , a _son_ —

Vic held a young boy in her arms, dark-eyed with strong brows, the dazzling lights of Christmasland in their eyes, both free of sharp teeth and over-pronounced veins, Charlie’s arms wrapped around them, smiling like he was the luckiest man on earth—

—and then the dream faded.

Charlie shook, staring up at Vic in awe.

That was…that had been…

Deep in Charlie’s bones, he _knew_ that had been no dream.

Smiling, tears in her eyes, Vic leaned down to give Charlie a chaste kiss, his cock soft inside her, cum cooling on their skin. Somehow, each knew the other had experienced the same dream, the dream that _wasn’t_ a dream. Both also knew that the dark-haired boy they’d seen in Christmasland did _not_ belong to Bing Partridge.

Purity and sin.

Perhaps it was possible to have both.

**Author's Note:**

> I can be found lurking at collared-fantasies@tumblr.com, if you're curious.


End file.
